Sale
by Ningengirai
Summary: FarfarelloSchuldig. Sometimes, not everything is for sale. Farfarello's body is one of those things.


Author: Ningengirai Title: Sale Rating: R Warnings: none except a tiny bit of violence Pairing: Schuldig/Farfarello  
  
Note: 'Sale' is the sequel to 'Cheap Prize, which can be found here. Please note that 'Cheap Prize' is rated NC-17 and contains a fair amount of violence and graphic sex.  
  
Sale  
  
I hated Goths. I hated their attitudes and their demeanour. I hated their catalogue clothing and their silly hairdos, I hated their whining and their ranting and the way they thought that dressing in black and pretending to hate everything else made a difference in a world that didn't give a shit about anything they did. I hated the way they squeezed into clubs and discussed Nietzsche in front of people who just wanted to have a good time. I hated the way they brandished their scars and their pierced skin as though they were the only ones who thought about body decoration. I hated how they discussed suicide and melancholia as though they were the 'in' thing of the moment. Melancholy is boring and there's nothing impressive or great about depressed people.  
  
I hated that no one had ever told them that you have to cut along your arm from wrist to elbow and not across it if you want to kill yourself. Seeing those faint, tentative white lines across a girl's or a boy's tender and starved wrist didn't do anything but make me laugh, which in turn made them crabby, which in turn made me show them some of my scars, which resulted in running and screaming and me having to do something about it.  
  
They didn't like my views about Nietzsche, either. God isn't dead, but I'm working on it.  
  
I hated Goths because they never lived up to my expectations. I hated them because they looked at me and thought I was one of them just because I dress in black. Did it ever occur to these people that black clothes are a great way to hide bloodstains? Shouldn't they know all that with their proclaimed interest in all thinks abysmal, dark and dreadful?  
  
I hated them because they said of themselves that they'd love to court death, but did they court me? No. What am I, sliced liver?  
  
I felt a rant coming on and took a swig of that ridiculous drink I'd ordered. Wish I hadn't. Drinking a Bloody Mary that had a plastic stirring stick with a replica of vampire fangs at the end made me feel like a wannabe, like a sell out.  
  
"You're not having fun," Schuldig said next to me. The disappointment in his voice spoke volumes and he didn't try to hide it. It made me feel sorry and even more aggressive toward the people around us because they were the source of my current case of the antisocial killing urges.  
  
This was our first semi-official date since he'd followed and fucked me two months ago. I'm saying semi-official because Crawford thought we were out to stalk the idiot offspring of our boss, Masafumi, and neither of us had uttered the magic word yet. Date just didn't apply to us. We lived in the same apartment and used the same bathroom, so meeting for a date hardly made sense. All we had to do was open two doors and we'd be doing more than dating.  
  
Perhaps it was semi-official because we'd actually dressed up. Well, Schuldig had. I wore black by default.  
  
He looked lovely and deadly in his combat boots, baggy pants and fishnet tank top. I suspected that he'd bought these clothes just for this occasion - we'd made tentative plans to 'date' early this morning and he'd then gone out - but that didn't deduct from the effect they had on me. Of course, given my inclination, Schuldig could walk around in a sack and I'd still want to eat him with a spoon.  
  
For tonight, he'd done something to his hair that made him look androgynous and me want to bury my hands in it even more than usual. I have a thing for long hair as long as it grows on someone else's head. Seeing his all feathery and tangled up and framing his face while the rest was somehow coiled on the back of his head, held there by a pair of black chopsticks, made me want to reach over and pull to make it all come down on his shoulders. Maybe later.  
  
I was counting on a later because sitting in a club and watching everyone else making asses of themselves wasn't my idea of fun.  
  
"See that girl there, Schu?" I waved my drink in the direction of a girl dancing at the edge of the crowd, her head thrown back in rapture, swinging her velvet-encased arms to the thundering beat of the music. Goth ennui indeed. Paradox in motion. "What do you think will happen if I walk over to her now and open her up from pelvic bone to sternum?"  
  
"You'd make a mess." He cradled his own drink against his chest and gave me a long, unfathomable look. "Scaring everyone in here to run screaming back to their mommy and daddy."  
  
"That's the point. These children don't have the guts. They don't know that a predator is among them and they are as oblivious to me as everyone else." I felt like a wolf sitting amid a peacefully grazing herd of sheep. Stupid, black-clothed, depressed, melancholy and pretentious sheep.  
  
Laughing gently, Schuldig put his drink on the table and scooted closer to me. We'd chosen a booth at the far wall of the club, which put the bar and the entrance door in our direct view. It gave us a modicum of privacy - not that either of us would have cared - and me a chance to watch the others without being in the centre of their attention. I knew I attracted looks with my colouring and behaviour and I didn't have to be a telepath to know that a great deal of the women and not a few of the men in the club wanted nothing more than to see Schu tied to a table with a cherry in his bellybutton.  
  
I inclined my head as he put his mouth to my ear and shuddered as his tongue slid over the sensitive patch of skin where my ear and jaw met. "You're pissed because they're not seeing you for what you are? Because they don't want to become involved with a sadistic killer who'd probably rip them into pieces?"  
  
Schuldig had spent a great deal of time finding out my sensitive spots and delighted in making me squeal, shudder and moan when he sought them out. My physical makeup prevented me from feeling pain but that didn't mean that I wouldn't experience the adrenaline rush that came with it. I'd just become more sensitive to all other sensations, which made sex an adventure for me. You would never make me scream in pain but you could make me scream in pleasure. On the other hand, depriving me of stimuli was the equivalent of torturing someone else with a glowing branding iron.  
  
That was something I kept as a secret to myself. They didn't need to know that I abhorred the times they'd hung me upside down for punishment. No one needed to know that.  
  
I pressed my shoulder against his chest and tilted my head the other way to give him better access to my neck as he started nibbling and sucking the skin, one of his hands idly tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh. "I'm pissed because these kids are asking for death and think it's beautiful, but if I show it to them they don't appreciate the kindness. If you don't want something then don't ask for it."  
  
He'd arrived at my collarbones and was pulling the neckline of my shirt down to reveal more skin. Listening to me, he snorted softly, the sudden burst of warm air leaving a tingling sensation that went all the way down into my belly. "Maybe they don't know what they're asking for, what do you think?"  
  
I turned my head, which put my nose in a nest of orange hair and made me smell his shampoo. He'd used something spicy, warm, like vanilla mixed with cinnamon, and I liked that smell. When I looked at his face his eyes were half-closed and his mouth slack. "What are you doing?"  
  
I didn't think he heard me and that disquieted me. He'd once told me that he feared to lose himself in someone else. He couldn't read my thoughts and that made me happy, but at the same time it made me suspicious of all the times he went into other people's heads and played with them. He'd once spent two hours in the head of a business executive to find out about a deal Takatori wanted to know about, and when he'd come back to himself he'd been moving like that man for twenty minutes before his brain remembered his moves.  
  
My drink sloshed over the rim of the glass as I put it down on the table and laid a hand on his cheek. His head lolled against my shoulder - in fact, his entire body had relaxed against my side - and he didn't respond as I called his name. I was becoming worried here - I didn't think Schuldig would ever lose himself totally, not in the mediocre minds around us - and wanted him to snap out of his stupor.  
  
"Schuldig!"  
  
He blinked and moved his mouth, and when I stroked a thumb over his lips he sucked on it and nibbled on the edge of my nail. "Sorry. That took a bit longer than I expected."  
  
"What took a bit longer?" I looked at the dancing crowd and the people sitting and standing at the bar but didn't notice a change. "What did you do? I don't -"  
  
He sat up and grinned at me and slid out of our booth. "I want to dance, Far." He held his hand out and waited for me to follow. The sudden change in demeanour threw me for a loop and it must have shown on my face, for his grin softened and he asked, "Trust me?"  
  
The DJ chose the moment we stepped onto the dance floor to play a slow, violin-heavy instrumental piece. Schuldig pulled me close and my head against his shoulder and started to move with the music, making sure our groins rubbed together. I got a nose full of his hair again and kept watching the crowd over his shoulder, wondering what he had done. They didn't look any different to me. Then I noticed that they were migrating closer to us. Not all of them - the majority of the dancers suddenly seemed compelled to leave the dance floor - but enough to make for a small crowd of ten, maybe fifteen people. "Schuldig..."  
  
I wore a thin t-shirt and leather pants and had a knife strapped to my left ankle under my pants. The desire to reach for that knife became overwhelming as I felt hands on my back. Schuldig's hands were gripping my ass and grounding our groins together. I pulled away from him and craned my neck to see who was touching me. It was the girl I had pointed out to him earlier. She had a dazed expression on her face and didn't even seem to be aware of having her hands on me.  
  
Snapping my head back around to Schuldig, I barked, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"  
  
It had to be his doing. Around us, our private little fan club was beginning to undress one piece at a time, dropping leather and lace and metal onto the floor. I snarled at a man who reached for Schuldig's hair and slapped his hands away.  
  
"You don't like my little present?" Schuldig asked in a calm, amused voice. "I'm just giving them what they were asking for but didn't have the guts to ask for."  
  
"Making them get their hands all over me? No. Make them stop." I didn't appreciate the thought of a complete stranger touching me and undressing me and - someone slipped their hands under the hem of my shirt and ran them up my back in a light, teasing manner. I growled, too rushed by this all, and wound myself out of Schuldig's embrace to punch the person. The sound and feel of my knuckles against skin were gratifying but not enough. The young man who stood in front of me looked as dazed as the girl had, only that he now had blood running down his mouth and chin. I'd probably broken his nose and he hadn't even tried to dodge. "Schuldig!"  
  
He pressed against my back and wound his arms around me, pulling them up and my own arms with them. I could feel his hard cock press against my ass through both our pants as he laced his fingers in the back of my neck. "Let them," he growled close to my ear, "Even sheep have their use. So use them. It's all they're good for."  
  
It would have taken me two seconds to break the stranglehold he had on me. Schuldig was taller than me but I was the one with the martial arts training and the no-pain bonus. I didn't know what he had done but I knew that he could very well get swept away in it if he wasn't careful, and the insistent rubbing against my ass showed me that he was hell-bent on seeing his little experiment brought to conclusion.  
  
I wasn't willing to serve as a test subject. "Let me go or I'll make you."  
  
The man I'd punched dropped to his knees in front of me and reached for my belt buckle. I lifted my foot and kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling on his back. He didn't get back up.  
  
"Are you afraid they'll dirty you?" Schuldig asked, teeth set against the knob of my spine. "You want to kill them but you don't want them to touch you. Is that why you tie all your victims down or render them unable to move?"  
  
I bent my arms and grabbed for handfuls of his hair, making him hiss in pain as I yanked on it. His hold on me slipped for a bit before it tightened again. "I didn't ask to be included in a mass orgy," I spat. "Nor did I ask you to try to dissect my motives. Now let me go and make them stop. I don't want this. I don't want to break your arms, either, but given no choice I will."  
  
He let go of me so suddenly that I nearly fell over and walked around me. His eyes were cold as he looked at me and said, "You're no fun, Farfarello."  
  
"This isn't funny." I looked around, ready to kill the next person who walked toward me, but they all just stood there and stared off into space as though my unwillingness to be part of Schuldig's little game had thrown them off track...which it had, come to think of it. "Trying to force me into it makes it even less funny."  
  
He turned around and walked away. His departure marked the end of his hold over the people in the club. They stood and blinked, some of them even rubbed their eyes, and then they discovered the man I'd kicked in the face and the fact that some of them had nearly undressed entirely. I used the ensuing panic that broke out to slip out of the club myself.  
  
We'd driven to the club in his car, and of course it was gone now as I walked back to where he'd parked it. Sighing, I started on the long walk home. It was past midnight and nearing winter, and my breath left little clouds in the air as I trudged along the sidewalk, glowering at everyone I met. I didn't even know what or who I was angry at - Schuldig for sure, because no matter which way I turned it, he'd tried to force me into something I didn't want. I'd killed people for less.  
  
I was angry at myself for ruining our date even when it felt right that I had.  
  
Most of all though I was angry at my dick because it'd gone rock hard the moment that man dropped to his knees and reached for me.  
  
---  
  
I didn't go home.  
  
The thought of returning to the apartment while I was still seething and still hard didn't sit well with me for several reasons. One, Schuldig might be there and notice. Two, Crawford would definitely be there and notice, if he hadn't seen it in a vision already. Just because he couldn't see me didn't mean he couldn't see Schuldig, and we'd been together all evening.  
  
Three, I didn't want to see Schuldig now because I didn't know what I'd do. He had a habit of dropping acid commentary on everything and especially if it concerned him somehow, and hearing him mocking me or cursing me would result in a Very Ugly Scene.  
  
Four, I needed to kill something. Badly.  
  
I found a drunken man sleeping on a park bench under a cluster of trees and slit his throat in passing. He was still gurgling and trying to shout when I rounded the corner at the end of the street. Apparently, my anger made me sloppy. I hadn't caught the carotid artery.  
  
He'd still bleed to death. It would just take a little longer. I took my mind off the corpse to be as I saw the next target to vent my rage on step out of a bar.  
  
The woman in a shapely cut dress and high heeled shoes didn't see me as I slipped into the shadows of a shop entrance, but she heard the gurgling screams that now erupted from around the corner of the street, and they caused her to hurry away.  
  
Just like a sheep. One big flock of bootlickers, idiots and useless cretins. Love for your fellow man translated into 'run as fast as you can and hope it doesn't hit you' these days. No wonder these people made for such perfect punching bags. I followed the woman into a side street where she had parked her car and slipped the tip of my knife between the disks of her lower spine as she unlocked the door. Muffling her scream with my hand, I turned her around and pressed her against the side of the car, taking in the panic that screamed at me from her eyes.  
  
"Bleat for me," I mocked her before I slit her stomach and left her to die. As I walked away from the scene, I wondered what I'd looked like to the man in the club before I killed him with a kick. Had my expression been as terrified, as scared?  
  
Schuldig had asked me to trust him as he pulled me out onto the dance floor. I hadn't. I couldn't. Not with this at least, not when I knew how easily he could get pulled under. It was fine and good when we were alone or with someone who couldn't defend themselves anymore but I knew I'd never let myself be swept away in the desire of an entire crowd. Not even when Schuldig directed them and especially not when I was the target of that desire.  
  
He'd probably realized that just then and there.  
  
---  
  
I returned home just before daybreak and was intercepted by Crawford. He had that half-worried, half-paternal look on his face that I found rather aggravating. Sometimes he needed to remember that he wasn't our father, no matter how whimsical and pointless Schuldig's and especially my escapades must seem to him.  
  
I was feeling like shit and I didn't want to listen to anything Crawford had to say to me, but he grabbed my arm as I tried to slip past him. Ignoring my pointed stare at his fingers on me, he said, "Do you have any idea how late it is? We have a meeting with Takatori in three hours and I want you to be there awake and alert, not dead on your feet."  
  
"I'll be there," I said. Then I yanked away from him. "Leave me alone."  
  
"Where's Schu?"  
  
I was already at my door but that made me turn around. "He isn't home yet?"  
  
"No. I thought you were on a date together." Crawford glowered at me. "Where is he?"  
  
"I didn't carve him into little pieces if that's what you think, and I have no idea where he is." The mention of 'date' made me twitch. Crawford must have seen it and started to walk over to me, but I stepped into my room and slammed the door in his face, turning the key in the lock. He drummed his fist against it and shouted my name. "He's probably out fucking someone else!" I yelled through the door.  
  
Crawford cursed outside in the hallway but I chose not to listen to him and flung myself down onto my bed. Feeling every bit like a petulant teenager in the tight grip of puberty, I buried my face in the pillow and sighed.  
  
It was when I felt my arms tremble that I realized how angry I still was.  
  
Takatori had better not say anything stupid during that meeting. Given the mood I was in, nothing short of a lightning strike would stop me from killing him.  
  
---  
  
The meeting was excruciatingly boring and thankfully short. It was just so like that old ass to call us all together for something that could have been told over the phone, but I'd realized some time ago that Takatori was deadly afraid of us and liked to play over that fear by making use of the fragile hold he thought he had on Schwarz.  
  
If only he knew that he was nothing more than a tool. Just like Eszet were nothing more than a tool.  
  
I had what passed as a raging headache for me ever since Crawford pounded on my door exactly two hours after I'd fallen asleep. Schuldig still hadn't been home but he met us as we walked into Takatori's stronghold near the Imperial Palace. Still wearing yesterday night's clothing, I noticed the jacket as soon as I saw him. He hadn't worn a jacket to the club and the leather looked as though it had been in use for some time now. It smelled of clove cigarettes.  
  
He ignored me during the meeting, which was fine with me. My vision was skewed thanks to the blood pressure in my head, and every time Takatori ever so slightly raised his voice during his boring monologue I felt as though my head was going to explode from the inside. I didn't have the blinding stabs of pain that I knew accompanied a headache, but I had the sickly feeling and crankiness and tiny bushmen abusing their drums that came with it. I stayed in the background and kept imagining the ways in which I would murder Takatori when the time came.  
  
When we returned to our shared apartment, Schuldig went straight into the bathroom, showered, and then locked himself in his room.  
  
Fine with me. If he was waiting for an apology he could wait till hell froze over. He'd probably written me off as a waste of time anyway. That thought hurt on more levels than I cared to admit to myself but I knew that I could deal with it. After all, I didn't feel pain.  
  
---  
  
Schuldig went out each night during the following weeks and returned early in the morning, much to Crawford's dislike. There were some screaming matches that revolved around our telepath's responsibility toward Schwarz and the stick up Crawford's ass - which I found amusing, because if any of us had a stick up his ass it was Nagi - and always ended with slamming doors and threats.  
  
Crawford would never throw Schuldig out of Schwarz, just as Schuldig would never leave Schwarz. At least, not yet. Not now. Not while we were still susceptible to Eszet's ruling thumb and our own failing to build an independent power base for us. Crawford blamed that failing mostly on Schuldig who, as a telepath, should win people for our side. Of course, 'our side' meant nothing more than making a few people believe that they would somehow profit from our doings while our doings would result in everyone but us getting fucked over big time.  
  
I didn't really give a rat's ass and immerged myself in my black thoughts and self-doubts and pent-up rages. If anyone had given me a sharp stick and pointed me toward an army of Takatori's I would have kissed them.  
  
Weiss' appearance in my violent little world amused me for all of two fights. I didn't understand why Crawford insisted that we let them live when I alone could have reduced them to a smear on the street without breaking a sweat. They were heroes in coats who hadn't gotten the clue that heroes were for comic books and fairytales. Schuldig mocked them whenever he could, Nagi enjoyed their dumb looks when their attacks on him failed, and Crawford simply laughed his ass off every time their leader tried to get at him with that silly katana of his.  
  
They were so Goth with their attitudes and dramatic entrances that I wanted to rip them into pieces every time I saw them.  
  
Bwana say we let them live. Bwana have good plan, or so bwana say.  
  
Whatever.  
  
Just give me a sharp stick and leave me the fuck alone.  
  
Sheep.  
  
---  
  
Exactly thirty-five days, six hours and twenty-three minutes after our little disaster in the club I found myself walking back in through the doors and past the bouncer, who gave me an appreciating smile as he saw my leather. If only he knew.  
  
I'd just killed five men in a private brothel run by one of Takatori's arch enemies and made a mess of my clothes and boots. I'd washed the blood off my hands and face in a dank little bathroom in the back of the brothel but hadn't bothered to go home for a change of clothing. Crawford had been notified of my success via cell phone and I'd requested the rest of the night off. Since I had nothing to do tomorrow - Takatori was spending quality time with his daughter Ouka and required only Crawford's presence and care - my request had been granted.  
  
Crawford didn't really care what we did in our free time as long as we didn't jeopardize Schwarz's future.  
  
I found a booth in the very back of the club, ordered a beer from a diminutive waitress and then immersed myself in the pleasant memory of killing those five men.  
  
Five men, four whores, two waiters, the brothel owner and the man guarding the entrance door, to be exact. I'd been on a roll. The waitress served my beer and walked away, throwing me a coquettish look over her shoulder. I slipped a hand under my jacket and touched the handle of the blood- encrusted knife I carried in strap sewn into the leather there and smiled back at her. Her eyes widened a bit and she hurried up her steps, disappearing into the crowd at the bar.  
  
"You need to work on that. You just scared the hell out of her." Schuldig emerged from the shadows that cumulated in the corner to the left of my booth. "Your smile makes little children cry."  
  
I wondered if he'd followed me or if we'd incidentally chosen the same hangout and didn't respond, didn't let on that his sudden appearance had surprised me. He slipped onto the bank next to me and put his drink on the table - hard whiskey from the look of the amber liquid sloshing around the ice cubes - and took my chin in his hand. Wondering what he'd do, I was a little surprised as he dipped his head and licked something off the side of my neck. I shuddered. When he pulled back, his lips were stained red.  
  
"And you let them graze you. Sloppy, Far."  
  
One of the men I'd killed at the brothel had pulled a gun and managed to fire a shot at me. It had cut into the side of my neck, nothing more than a shallow bruise, and I'd paid special attention to him to thank him for it. The police would have some work to do to puzzle him back together. If they found all pieces.  
  
Schuldig's eyes nearly glowed in the semi-darkness at the back of the club and his fingers on my chin didn't let go even as I reached up to grab his wrist. "Go find someone else to annoy."  
  
He smiled at me, cold like a glacier. "I'd rather annoy you."  
  
"Are you drunk?" I didn't smell an unusual amount of alcohol on his breath as he leaned into me but I couldn't explain his sudden mood change any other way. We'd been treating each other like strangers for the past weeks. "Are you high?"  
  
He laughed and ran his hand over my chest, gripping the collar. "Neither." He yanked down on the collar until it gave with that shredding sound cloth makes when it's torn apart and bared my chest. Resting his fingertips on my sternum, he said, "I'm sorry."  
  
An apology from Schuldig. Novel. "And you're demonstrating how sorry you are by tearing up my shirt and ag -"  
  
He kissed me and twisted one of my nipples between his fingers, making something in my belly curl up and purr. I was torn between pushing him away and pushing toward him for more and by the time I came to the conclusion that I just couldn't decide he was sitting on my lap and grounding himself down against my cock. I let go of his wrist and reached up to bury both my hands in his hair and pull him down against me as he rocked atop me and kissed me.  
  
When he pulled back his eyes were glittering and I was as hard as a rock. "They say make-up sex is the best sex you can have."  
  
"Does that mean we're going to fight again after this?" I rocked myself up against his ass and then realized that everyone else around us had gone silent. Looking over his shoulder I saw that they were staring at us. Even the DJ seemed to have noticed our public display and forgotten to put the next song on.  
  
Schuldig didn't seem to mind. "Choose someone." His hands slid along my arms and rested lightly on my wrists. "Choose anyone."  
  
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Why?"  
  
"Trust me?"  
  
I didn't want to. I wanted to get up and leave. I wanted to tear into him for creating nearly the same scenario twice.  
  
He read my hesitation for what it was and asked again, "Trust me?"  
  
It was time to come to a decision. "No."  
  
His face fell.  
  
I leaned forward and buried my face against his chest and said, "You choose someone."  
  
He ran his hands over my shoulders and back and stroked my hair and neck, silent. I breathed his scent and slipped my arms around his waist as he started to rock on top of me again. I waited for hands on me, but they didn't come. When he lifted my head between his palms I saw that nobody was looking at us anymore. In fact, everybody seemed to have completely forgotten about our very presence. Confused, I looked up at him.  
  
He laughed a little and said, "I don't want to share you with anyone. And yes...I really had to think about that for a while."  
  
I grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands off my face, remembering the smell of glove cigarettes as I just looked at him. Schuldig once told me that people don't like it when he looks into their eyes because they feel as though he's unearthing all their dirty little secrets. Given his Gift and inclinations, that was probably true. "That goes for both of us."  
  
He grinned and bent down for a kiss. When we surfaced for air, he pressed his brow against mine. "Okay. No sharing."  
  
I like Schuldig's eyes because they're blue and cold and warm when he looks at me.  
  
END 


End file.
